


best documentary short

by arbitrarily



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Documentaries, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarily/pseuds/arbitrarily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The following footage is of real events – or, a film crew stops by the Nine-Nine; typical chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	best documentary short

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millepertuis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millepertuis/gifts).



> Happy Holidays!

 

Open with **JAKE** seated in front of the camera. He has a goofy grin on his face as he looks expectantly into the lens. Behind him is a dented file cabinet and a poster reminding that possession of fireworks in New York is illegal.

He nods once, looking to a cameraman who cannot be seen onscreen. _Ready?_ he mouths and then grins.

He spreads his arms wide and stares straight into the camera.

“Live from New York – it’s Brooklyn’s Nine-Nine!”

 

 

 

 

 

**MONDAY  
9:26 AM**

Jake sits perched on the side of Gina’s desk. Jake explains that he has recently reached the revelation that the only way to beat Holt is to be one step ahead of him.

“Beat him? Oh my god, when did you two decide to go full Thunderdome on him? Did he challenge you to a duel? Pistols at noon,” she says nodding her head.

“No,” he scoffs. “I mean beat him emotionally and to his heart and make him realize I am the single best human being detective man he has ever had the pleasure and honor of knowing and employing.”

“Finish him,” Gina intones dramatically low.

Jake ignores her, clearly deep in thought. “If you know a man’s secrets ... you can predict his every move.”

“I don’t think it works that way? But I definitely encourage you down this path of idiocy all the same.”

“How do you learn a man like Holt’s secrets anyway?”

Gina leans forward. “One word: male. Second word: bonding. Put them together: male bonding.”

“What, like watch the Knicks together?”

“Take him golfing. Like men. Men who wear plaid.” She pauses. “Oh! Or? Lumberjacking? You could totally find a cabin up in the Catskills. Get an axe, get some wood, some aforementioned plaid, and whoosh – those secrets will fall right out of his butt.” Jake looks at her in confused disgust. “Oh! My sister knows this place? It _might’ve_ been the site of a cult? But – ” Jake holds up his hand.

“One, that is a terrible suggestion. Two, does he even actually play golf? Because I think I’d like to see that and maybe offer my services as his caddy.”

“Like Bagger Vance,” Gina gasps.

Amy enters the bullpen. She is dressed in a new suit with the tag still hanging out of the collar. As she passes her desk, Rosa reaches up and rips the tag off.

“Hey!” Amy hisses. Rosa shrugs. “I was going to return this,” she whispers, though still loud enough for the cameras to pick up.

“Not anymore,” Rosa whispers back. She looks down at the ripped tag in her hand. “The Valerie Bertinelli Collection?” Amy glances once at the camera and then again, self-conscious, and starts pulling at the collar of her shirt, a wide frozen newscaster grin marring her features.

She takes a deep breath and rubs her palms against her thighs before clearing her throat.

“Okay, listen up!” Amy calls to the room at large. No one pays her any attention. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the film crew here today, and – hey! is anyone listening to me?”

 

 

 

**AMY:**

I think we’re a great subject for a documentary film. We’re a bustling workplace, a true melting pot, and a true – 

  
**ROSA:**

The last documentary I watched was _Planet Earth_. (pause) I like nature – so what? It’s relaxing!   
  


**BOYLE:**

Documentaries are great! They can help open a dialogue for social discourse, demonstrate humanity at its finest and at its bleakest. And sometimes there are penguins. (sigh) God, I loved those penguins.

 

 

 

“Here’s the deal,” Amy says: the the film crew will be with them for the next couple of days. “I knew the director in high school,” she adds with a shrug. “I used to let him copy off me, freshman year. Earth sciences. Photosynthesis. You know.”

“Does the Captain know about this?” Rosa asks.

“The academic dishonesty?” Amy asks in horror. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Rosa doesn’t even grant that a verbal response and rather simply arches her eyebrows in explanation.

 

 

 

**AMY:**

Rosa, uh, Detective Diaz, has really fine-tuned the art of eyebrow-based communication. There’s the slight raise, like this (Amy attempts to mimic the eyebrow raise in question), and that means she can’t believe you’re _that_ stupid. If _both_ eyebrows go up, (she demonstrates), that means she can’t believe you’re that stupid but she finds it pretty amazing. If they scrunch down (her entire face scrunches), you’re in danger. Run. (pause) I’ve got, like, fifteen other documented examples – do we have time for that?

 

 

 

“He thinks it’ll make for good publicity for the precinct,” Amy tells Rosa.

“It’s like they say,” Boyle says, “all publicity is bad publicity especially good publicity.” He frowns. “Wait. That doesn’t sound right.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Amy says. Boyle holds his hands up in supplication and apology.

“Alright, guys,” Jake says as he steps over to his desk. He plops down heavily into his desk chair, holding his breath for just a beat when the chair whines in protest. “Lights, camera, _action_. Santiago is ready for her close-up.”

“And we are ready for her to close. It. Up,” Gina says, inching slowly by in her wheeled desk chair behind Amy and into the camera’s line of sight.

“This guy even legit,” Jake asks, gesturing to the guys behind the camera. “Because I do not get out of bed for public access.”

Amy crosses her arms over her chest. “You get out of bed because you have to get to your job. Here. And maybe a little because of your probable sleep apnea.”

Jake nods solemnly. “Yeah, that does get me going.”

“And, yes, for your information, he is ‘legit.’” She overdoes it on the scare quotes and Jake smiles almost fondly at her. “He told me,” she says softly, as though confessing something in confidence (which only inspires the rest of the precinct to creep in closer to hear), “that if it’s finished in time, it will play at the Tribeca Film Festival.”

“Oh my god,” Gina says while she spins in chair, freezing abruptly. “I hope I get to meet Ed Begley, Jr.”

“Tribeca?” Jake asks. “That’s De Niro’s festival, right?” He pulls his face up into a mean mug, aiming for De Niro but landing somewhere closer to animated bulldog. “‘You talkin’ to me? _You_ talkin’ to _me_?’”

Boyle’s expression is more akin to Popeye, as is his voice, when he attempts an impersonation. “‘You talkin’ to me? Well I’m the only one here.’”

Gina joins in with her own chorus of _you talkin’ to me_ complete with grimace, a chain reaction of escalating, competing bad De Niros amongst the three of them. The camera pans to Rosa. She points a finger at it and says, “No.”

“That was really good,” Boyle says, impressed.

Amy shakes her head and waves her arms, her universal gesture for _this is not what I want to be talking about pay attention to me_. “Behave as you normally would,” she preaches to her inattentive congregation. “Only less embarrassing.”

Jake kicks his feet up on his desk and starts rocking back in his chair. “And more awesome.” He stands up and pulls his buttoned up shirt over his head.

“What is happening?” Amy asks slowly. Jake tries rolling the sleeves of his white undershirt and then eyes the scissors on his desk. “What are you doing?” she shouts when he reaches for the scissors.

He looks at her like it’s fairly obvious. “I’m getting into costume. What would John McClane wear? Answer: a dirty wife-beater.”

“Put the scissors down and please put your shirt back on.”

“You can’t handle this much raw sexual energy?” He strikes a pose, his hand on his cocked hip. “This here is all natural, all real, America. Gluten-free,” he says into the camera.

“Please!” Amy tries to beg again. “Just try to make us all look good. The future of not only our jobs but the New York City Police Department’s reputation depends on it.”

“Good luck with that,” Rosa grumbles under her breath. Her brows furrows that much more. “Hey, where’s Sarge?” She looks around her. “Anyone seen Terry?”

“He isn’t here,” comes a high-pitched disembodied whisper from behind Terry’s desk. “Terry’s not here.”

 

 

 

**TERRY:**

(wide-eyed terror as he looks at the camera)

(silence)

 

 

 

Holt steps out of his office, entering into frame. He has chosen the absolute worst moment to make an entrance as he sets off a Rube Goldbergian chain of clumsy disaster.

First, he walks into a door two maintenance workers are carrying past to install in the office next to his. He shatters the glass pane in the center of it, small pebbles of glass showering onto the floor. Next, his foot slips as though walking on marbles, and he stumbles forward. He breaks his fall-in-the-making by stepping onto a skateboard that had been brought in as evidence and then left behind near Jake’s desk. He glides several feet, graceful until his balance begins to slip and his arms wave in a windmill-like fashion. He slams into the side of Hitchcock’s desk, bringing down an entire teetering pile of files and paperwork, as well as both Hitchcock and himself.

The precinct stares in stunned silence.

“Please tell me you got all that on film,” Jake says in a stage whisper.

“I’m okay,” Hitchcock calls weakly up from the floor.

 

 

 

**JAKE:**

He’s my Denzel, a la his Academy Award-winning role in _Training Day_. And I’m a much more awesome, more bad-ass Ethan Hawke. The kind who’d never cheat on Uma.

 

**AMY:**

He’s a leader for all of us, certainly. An aspirational figure. (she clears her throat, steadying herself, preparing to launch into a rehearsed speech) Much as Teddy Roosevelt once said –

 

**JAKE:**

Or maybe he’s my Robin Williams? And I’m Good Will Hunting? How you like them apples? (pause) That’s not the line, is it. (shrugs) We have a relationship best described by outdated film references.

 

**GINA:**

In a perfect world he is def-in-ite _ly_ my super gay super handsome super rich husband who is totally okay with me banging other dudes.

 

 

 

 

 

**MONDAY  
11:14 AM**

Terry stands at the podium in the briefing room. He keeps nervously looking straight into the camera. He dabs at his forehead daintily with a handkerchief and takes a deep breath.

“You doing all right there, Sarge?” Jake asks.

Terry glances to the back of the room at the documentary crew. “Just a little camera shy,” he finally admits, his voice cracking on the last word. “It’s not a problem,” he says even though his voice jumps a couple octaves.

In fits and nervous starts, Terry sketches out their newest case: an actress staying in a Brooklyn hotel had her room ransacked. Her cellphone and laptop were taken, both of which contained photos of a sensitive nature. Boyle and Jake are assigned to the case.

“Selfies,” Boyle says with understanding resignation, apropos of nothing.

Jake leans back in his chair, purposefully nonchalant. “I guess you could say, she wasn’t the only one,” he pauses, pulling on a pair of cheap aviator shades, “stealing screen time.” He crosses his arms over his chest; everyone in the briefing room groans and one of his lenses falls out onto the table.

 

 

 

**GINA:**

[REDACTED] wouldn’t sign a release. Despite my immeasurable (gestures at herself) charms. And while [REDACTED] wouldn’t sign a release we all definitely signed a whole lot of NDAs. That’s nondisclosure agreements for those of us in the biz.

 

 

 

 

 

**MONDAY  
2:24 PM**

Jake and Boyle are at the hotel in question, sitting together watching surveillance footage in the security office.

“This is about as interesting as [REDACTED]’s last movie,” Jake says.

Boyle looks wounded. “I liked that movie.”

(off-screen, a voice asks if they’re going to be doing this for awhile)

“This right here is some thrilling police work,” Jake says, obvious and defensive.

“Yeah! And after this? We’re gonna question the hotel staff, and if we’re lucky, grab some hoagies on our way back to the precinct,” Boyle says proudly. Jake shakes his head.

Cut to an hour later, Jake and Boyle are riding in the elevator.

“Undercover ID?” Jake asks Boyle. Boyle’s face screws up in deep concentration.

“Chance McGillicuddy,” he says with great certainty. “A single father who loves his schnauzers very, very much.”

“More than his kids?”

“Their mother took them to a small town outside of Providence where she’s hoping to make a fresh start and has her eye on a local taxidermist by day, baker by night. All Chance has is Winky and Harpoon.”

“Harpoon?”

“Chance also has an affinity for whaling culture.”

“Of course he does.” The elevator dings as they ascend. “Damn,” Jake says with great respect, “that’s a really solid cover.”

 

 

 

 

 

**MONDAY  
5:38 PM**

Holt has accidentally made himself a point of comedy, which Amy takes deeply personally ("I will _not_ have a comedian for a mentor") and as pretext for her to defend his honor ("I shall defend his honor"). While speaking with the director in his office, Holt breaks his desk chair while seated in it, though he does manage to keep talking through his crooked descent (“... I have great hopes for the future of this office ...”). Amy looks on in horror, her hands held over her mouth.

“Someone get him another chair,” she hisses at no one in particular. “Or,” she says, like it’s the most genius idea in the world, “I can get down on my hands and knees? He can sit on me like I’m a donkey. I volunteer. I will do that. I will be his donkey.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Holt says, still sitting crooked in his broken chair.

Gina glances at the camera with a vacant and slightly crazed look to her face.

 

 

 

**GINA:**

There are so many jokes to be made about the fact Santiago just owned up to being an ass. I ... don’t – I don’t even know where to begin.

 

 

 

 

 

**TUESDAY  
8:13 AM**

Jake shows up at the precinct with a duffle bag and a sleeping bag tucked under his arm. “Well, guys. I got bugs.”

“Ew,” Rosa says under her breath, eyeing him up and down with keen interest. The rest of the assembled gang looks at him with a mixture of disgust, horror, and intrigue (Santiago, Boyle, and Hitchcock, respectively).

“Allow me to rephrase, and to continue: I got bugs all over my apartment.”

“Is this code for crabs? Because if it’s code for crabs, you’re really not doing a great job hiding the evidence, my brother,” Gina says.

“And who calls their junk their _apartment_? Right? Come on!” Boyle sputters weakly, the joke falling flat and he shrugs in the direction of the camera.

“I am talking about my actual inhabited apartment. My place of residence! I am not talking about my penis.”

Holt appears behind Jake. “That pleases all of us, Detective.”

“Captain Holt,” Jake greets without turning around. “My best friend and harbinger of probable future doom, how are you this morning?”

“I am well. I woke to a robin perched outside my window and enjoyed a blueberry crepe though found the current roster of morning talk shows no longer to my taste.” He pauses. “Some days I find I truly do miss Regis Philbin.”

“You and Kathie Lee have that – and most likely _only_ that – in common, hombre.”

Jake drops his stuff at his desk and takes a seat.

“You can’t live here,” Amy says to him.

“Yes. Yes, I can. And I shall. Would you like me to roll out this sleeping bag to demonstrate how?”

“You know how that expression goes! You can’t ... poop where you eat.”

“Dude, I eat and I poop here all the time. I’m just adding sleeping to my roster of human activity that takes place inside these four walls.” He frowns, looks around as though he is just now recognizing where he is. “Actually, I’ve definitely slept here before.”

 

 

 

**JAKE:**

Lost my keys to my apartment, a dog took my keys to my apartment, lost my keys in a poker game, won someone else’s keys in a _different_ poker game, I took the sheets off my bed to wash them and never took them out of the dryer and when I went back someone had stolen my sheets. (rueful sigh) I never did solve that case. Haunts me to this day.

 

 

 

 

 

**TUESDAY  
12:43 PM**

Rosa arrests an ex for public intoxication.

“Has he been in before? I think I know him,” Amy says, wrinkling her nose.

“Arson, voter fraud, tax fraud, impersonating an officer of the law, impersonating a member of the clergy,” Rosa trails off, shrugs. “You know. Stuff.”

“You used to date that guy?” Boyle asks, high-pitched and terrified.

 

 

 

**ROSA:**

They say opposites attract. (shrug) I was in it for the boning. Like hate sex with a Republican on election night. (pause) He’s a disgusting excuse for a human being. That’s romance.

 

 

 

 

 

**TUESDAY  
7:28 PM**

Jake lost a fist fight with an off-brand Mickey Mouse who works down in Times Square but just so happened to be shuffling around Brooklyn, sans the head of his costume.

Back at the precinct, Jake has a swollen black eye. He holds a frozen piece of fresh-water salmon to his eye.

“Hey! That was dinner! I picked that out special at Trader Joe’s!” Terry says.

Amy looks up from the file she has opened in front of her and takes a bite of her salad.

“You should see the other guy,” Jake says to her.

Amy glances over at the handcuffed non-Mickey Mouse seated at Boyle’s desk. “I just did.”

“That hurt?” she asks Jake.

“Yes,” Jake says, hedging, like he is both expecting and desiring her pity.

She smiles, closed-mouthed and smug. “Good.”

 

 

 

**AMY:**

Jake thinks he’s above the rules. I like when the rules put him back in his place. (a satisfied grin)

 

**JAKE:**

(gingerly touches his eye) Casualty of the job. I bet Gene Hackman got punched in the face all the time. A rabble rouser – _and_ an officer of the law. I’d say put it on my tombstone, but then I wouldn’t be around to enjoy it. Maybe a plaque?

(inaudible offscreen conversation)

Yes, I know Gene Hackman’s not really a cop. Thanks for the reminder.

 

 

 

Boyle and Jake had brought their Faux Mickey Mouse in for assaulting an officer. Turns out, of all the gin joints, and all the non-Disney people-sized mice, he’s their man: he is their hotel thief.

 

 

 

**BOYLE:**

A combination of sheer brio, deductive reasoning, and pretty decent eye sight were the primary attributes that led to me solving this case.

 

**ROSA:**

Mickey’s bag fell off his chair. The laptop was right there.

 

**BOYLE:**

(gleeful grin) (holds up an iPad open to Page Six’s website with his face and [REDACTED]’s face pressed against his and the headline A REAL-LIFE LEADING MAN!)

 

 

 

The camera captures Boyle leading a handcuffed headless human-sized mouse through the door and towards the holding cells.

“You bummed it wasn’t you who got to play hero of the hour for the cameras?” Amy asks Jake.

Jake shakes his head, but his face is stony and serious.

“Are you trying to think of a David Caruso-worthy pun involving a mousetrap?”

His mouth twists to the side and he sighs heavily.

“WWCS. What would Caruso say.”

The precinct hums around the both of them – Rosa drums her fingers on her desk as she presses her phone to her ear, on hold, her drumming an angry machine gun rat-a-tat; Terry sports a Batman mask to hide himself from the camera’s intrusion as he sorts through the week’s accumulated incident reports; Boyle reenters the bull pen, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet; Gina laughs into the phone before loudly braying, “Yeahhhhh, no, I will not be passing that message along, buh-bye,” and then muttering under her breath about Dolly Parton and working 9 to 5 – and Amy inclines her head towards Jake.

“It looks like,” she says, voice pitched low and mock-serious, “the cheese does stand alone.”

Jake stares at her for a moment before his mouth cracks open in a wide grin. “That doesn’t make any sense? But I applaud the effort, Santiago.”

And then, Holt bends down to pick up a file he dropped. He rips his pants.

“Oh my god, there is no end to his indignity,” Amy gasps.

 

 

 

 

 

**GINA:**

So, check this – I’ve got an entire five year plan worked out. One: the movie premieres to a packed house at Tribeca or Sundance or Cannes, on the moon, what-ev-er. Two: (sings) Gina Linetti is a star.

 

**TERRY:**

(super awkward, all muscles clenched tight, only terse monosyllabic answers offered)

(the camera pans away from him) (he exhales, slouches, deflating as he scrubs a hand over his sweaty face)

Was that good? We got it? We got the take? (he looks down at his sweat-stained shirt) ‘cause if we’re doing another take? I gotta change.

 

**JAKE:**

(whips out a guitar)

This one’s for you (he points to the camera).

 

**BOYLE:**

I should’ve asked her for an autograph. Dammit, Charles!

 

**GINA:**

Three: Bravo greenlights a reality series for this _moi_ and I move in next-door to the Kardashians. Four: I. Meet. Kanye. We. Fall. In. Love. Five: (throws hands up) Profit.

 

**SCULLY:**

All in the game. Yo.

(smiles sheepish and proud at the same time)

My wife got me the boxset last Christmas.

 

**ROSA:**

(stares into the camera, doesn’t blink)

You want me to tell you what?

 

**AMY:**

(she has a stack of notecards in her lap, sitting ramrod straight, pushes her hair behind her ear)

As a civil servant in the Brooklyn community, I strive –

 

**JAKE:**

(singing)

 _This bed is on fiiiiiire with passionate love, the neighbors complain about the noises above_ –

 

**HOLT:**

I’ll admit it: it’s been a ... whacky couple of days. Boyle got himself into the gossip pages. Jake is literally living at the precinct. Detective Diaz staged a romantic rendezvous in the evidence lock-up with a former paramour and acquitted miscreant. I ripped my pants, among other, considerably greater, damage.

(pause)

The Dirty Harry thing – the Vic Mackey, the Andy Sipowicz, the Andy Griffith – they’re all fictional for a reason. (a small twitch of his shoulder that serves as a shrug). So this job isn’t particularly glamorous. So none of us are the next great action heroes. But we do our jobs. It’s never boring.

(brief pause)

And the people aren’t so bad.

(his mouth quirks up into what could be interpreted as a smile) (as the camera pulls back from him, he reaches, grabs a breakfast sandwich off his desk and takes a large bite) (the camera remains trained on **HOLT** )

I have egg on my face, don’t I.

 

 

 

 

**END.**


End file.
